“You say,” declared an elderly man in Kamba Tsenam’s service, “that you are a tsongpun (merchant) from Ladak. Why then do you travel by this dangerous side route? Here you can drive no trade. How have you found the way? Why have you travelled in winter? Why do you ask the names of the valleys?”
“I have to write down all the names,” he answered, “that we may find the way again in summer, for I am commissioned to make large purchases of wool.”
“That is well, you shall have several hundred bales of sheep’s wool from us. I will give you a guide in the morning; you will pay him a rupee for two days. Without him you cannot find your way over the Gebuk-la, especially when the ground is covered with snow.”
| 330. Travelling Ladaki Merchant in West Tibet. 331. Oang Gye, Son
of the Governor of Saka. 332. Panchor, the Yak-slayer, my
Guide on the Journey to the Teri-nam-tso. 333. Woman of Yumba-matsen. Sketches by the Author. |
Abdul Kerim had thanked him for his kindness and then had come to look for us. We were sitting and deliberating when two riders armed with guns came up to our tents. They were close upon us when they appeared out of the snowstorm. We just managed to close my tent and fasten up Takkar before the entrance. The elder man was Abdul Kerim’s friend from the large tent, the other the youth who was offered to us as a guide. They tied up their horses and went nonchalantly into Abdul Kerim’s tent. Here they sat and gossiped for an hour, and offered a large handsome white horse for sale at the price of 127 rupees. Abdul Kerim bought it, whereupon they asked how much money he had with him, and whether he was not afraid of being attacked. Afterwards they went about the tents and looked around, and I drew a breath of relief when they at last vanished in the snow with the other horse.
Now we considered the situation. To refuse the guide would seem extremely suspicious, for the snow already lay a foot deep, and the path—all we had to depend on—was covered up. But to have a stranger, a spy, in the caravan for two days and a night was still more dangerous. When Kutus and Sedik went back a little later to the large tent to fetch a bowl of sour milk, they were told to say that our tsongpun did not want a guide, for we should remain quiet a day, either here or at the next camp. “Your tsongpun speaks with two tongues, he does not know what he wants,” the men answered.
We left this dangerous place on April 23 before the sun was up, and I went first with the sheep in case our neighbours paid a morning visit. The weather cleared and the sun came out, and then the snow quickly evaporated. Farther up all the valley floor was covered with a continuous sheet of ice. In front of us was seen the pass Gebuk-la. Here a little old man was following ten mares. He pretended not to see us, but he was soon overtaken by Abdul Kerim and Kunchuk, who kept him company most of the day. With Lobsang I rested half an hour on the pass, at a height of 16,978 feet. To the east and south-east of us lay an entanglement of mountains and valleys, and without the horse-tender we had so fortunately found it would have been quite impossible to find our way over the succession of small saddles which followed. To the south-south-east the snowy massive of Chomo-uchong rose in radiant sunshine; to the north was a huge crest, which I, like Ryder, took for the main range of the Trans-Himalaya and the watershed, but this turned out afterwards to be a mistake.
The horse-driver took us up a secondary saddle, at the eastern foot of which runs a deeply eroded valley, which, coming from the north, 10° E., is the upper section of the valley we followed last year, and which runs down to Basang, where I saw Muhamed Isa for the last time among the number of the living. Here was the driver’s tent, and to escape his company during the night we continued our march after the stranger had given us instructions about the way. Our camp 390 was situated in the mouth of a small valley on the ascent to the Kinchen-la, where we were overwhelmed in a terribly dense and violent snowstorm.
The guide, who had so fortunately appeared at the right moment, had said in the presence of our men that he was Kamba Tsenam’s brother and a great yak-slayer. The year before he had seen in Saka-dzong a European whose caravan leader, a big strong fellow, had inspired respect wherever he showed himself. But he had died suddenly in Saka, and his comrades had digged a long hole in the ground where they had laid him. He thought it strange that Ladakis, who were of the same faith as the Tibetans, would travel with and serve the hated Europeans.
For the future we determined to observe yet greater caution. Two or three Ladakis should always wear dark eye-glasses, so that mine might not seem so peculiar. As soon as we could buy woollen material all the men should have new clothes, so that I in my rags would seem the poorest and meanest of the party.